Hatchling
by Heimeldat
Summary: When Dick becomes Nightwing, Bruce has already known Jason Todd for weeks. He doesn't intend to create a new Robin; Bruce is merely using Jason to bring down a criminal, while Jason intends to kill Batman. But events lead them to work together to complete a mission that didn't go very well for the Team, and by the time the dust settles, Batman has a new partner.
1. Chapter 1

All the characters of course belong to DC and Warner Brothers and not to me. Thanks to the Young Justice team who created this version of the world. Credit goes also to Max Allan Collins, writer of Jason's Post-Crisis debut in Batman #408, from whom I have adapted certain scenes.

This story can be read as a sequel to my previous story "Fledgling." However, it can also stand alone; you needn't read "Fledgling" to understand any of these events. Also, slight language warning because of Jason's mouth.

**Chapter One**

_Gotham Coventry._

_18 September, 2013. 20:42._

This was dumb, coming back here. He already boosted three cars here this week. The cops were probably poking around by now. But this was a borderline neighbourhood, nice enough to score good cars but crummy enough that the cops wouldn't poke too hard. Jason figured he could get away with one more.

And he was being real careful, anyway. Mama Rosa always said to be careful. Dad told him the same thing, back before he died. So Jason was sitting on a rusty old fire escape a couple floors above street level, looking at all the cars parked along the road. By now it was too dark to see them properly, but he'd already picked his target. Now he just had to wait for those stupid teenagers sitting on the corner to finish their smoke and go away.

Jason shivered a little and wrapped his arms around his legs. He should have brought a sweatshirt. The fire escape was cold under his butt and a chilly breeze had started blowing a few minutes ago. And he was bored, too.

Mama Rosa said if he ever got bored he should come up with another plan. Dad never told him that, but he liked it. He had a backup plan already: four cinderblocks and a tire iron stacked behind the trash bins at the bottom of the fire escape. Stealing tires was lame – he'd only bothered with it a few times since he learned how to take the whole car – but if he couldn't get a whole car for some reason, tires were better than nothing. So…now he needed a third plan. Maybe he could bust into someone's house and steal their TV. Yeah, right. If he wanted to get caught by the cops and sent to some juvie hall or something.

Down at the corner, the kids tossed their cigarette butts on the ground and started wandering away. Finally. Jason slithered down the rusted ladder and dropped between the trash cans. He squatted there in the shadows and ignored the gross smell coming from the garbage. Mama Rosa said he always had to take his time and make sure nobody saw him. She was a lot more careful than Dad. But then, Dad got killed, didn't he?

An engine roared somewhere down the street, and Jason grinned. He knew a sweet engine when he heard one. He leaned out from behind the trash cans to get a good look. There it was, long and sleek and black, way too nice for a neighbourhood like this. He didn't even recognise the make. Now if it would just stop. Come on, come on…oh, yeah! It growled to a smooth halt just a little ways down the street and—

Oh, crap. Jason bit his lip and scuttled back deeper into the shadows. His hand fell on his tire iron and he gripped it hard. That was the freaking Batmobile. Batman, right here, so close to him. Jason's heart started banging too fast as a dark cloaked shape flitted right past him and away into the darkness at the other end of the road.

After a minute he stood up and inched out from behind the trash can. Batman was gone. He started breathing again and realised he'd been holding his breath. Well, that was brave. Dumb kid, hiding in the dark. But…he knew what the Bat did to people. Rosa's boys had all lost family because of the freak in the cape. He swallowed and tightened his fist around the tire iron again. He lost Dad because of Batman. Being a little scared of a guy like that wasn't cowardly, right? He just wasn't ready to get back at the Bat yet.

At least, not much. But maybe a little. Jason looked at the car. The Batmobile. If he could boost the Batmobile…well, that was one hell of a set of wheels. It was probably worth a fortune. He grinned, stuffed the tire iron through his belt, and ran down the sidewalk for a closer look at the car.

It took all of five seconds for him to realise he couldn't pick the door lock. He didn't even see a keyhole, just a number pad and a little sensor that looked like it maybe went with a remote control. Whatever it was, it sure wasn't something he could beat. Jason scowled at the windows: tightest fit he'd ever seen, no chance of sliding a hook in that way.

So much for that great idea. Jason scowled and kicked the Batmobile's tire, then kicked it again, harder. He felt a blurry prickling at the corners of his eyes that was definitely not tears. He was supposed to be good at this. He was supposed to be able to get back at Batman for killing Dad. But he couldn't even steal a stupid car! He raised the tire iron to hit the dumb sleek shiny thing, then stopped.

Backup plan. This was the whole reason he had a backup plan. Jason ran back to the bottom of the fire escape and dragged the cinderblocks out onto the sidewalk. All right, he could do this much, anyway. Batman couldn't drive a car with no wheels. And these were nice tires, with bats embossed on the hubcaps and everything. They were worth something, and he'd finally be on top with the other boys. He'd be the kid that stole the Bat's wheels.

Jason was good at boosting tires. Dad taught him how when he was just eight. He got right to work and had the first tire off in no time flat. He rolled it away into the darkness behind the trash cans and started on the second one.

His heart rattled in his chest the whole time. He kept expecting Batman to appear. But nothing happened. Nobody saw him. He stashed the second tire behind the trash bins, and then the third. Finally he started relaxing a little as he loosened the last wheel.

Then a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder and he jumped about two feet and jerked free so hard his back slammed into the side of the car. His heart started banging so hard he thought it might bust right out through his ribs, but this time he couldn't run. Batman loomed between him and freedom, huge and dark with glowing white eyes.

"You're going to give me back my tires," he growled. But then he put his hands on his hips and that left him wide open.

Jason couldn't run, he'd have to fight. He was so close, close enough to hit the jerk, and he had a weapon. Mama Rosa said don't tighten your hand on the weapon, don't wind up like you're going to hit a baseball, don't tense up or shift your weight, or they'll know you're about to hit them. So he just muttered, "Who says I took 'em?"

"What else is the tire iron for?" Batman spread his arms, and this was the best chance Jason was going to get.

He swung as hard as he could before he could get too scared. "This!" he shouted, and felt the tire iron thump Batman in the gut, not as hard as he meant, but hard enough. Batman stumbled, probably more startled than hurt, and Jason ran for it.

He yelled over his shoulder, "Try and catch me, you big boob!" That was a stupid thing to yell, but he was so scared he wasn't thinking, and at the same time part of him wasn't scared at all any more. He just hit Batman and got away!

But he wasn't quick enough, he knew he wasn't. He dropped the tire iron, made a flying leap for the bottom of the fire escape, and just barely caught the ladder with his fingertips. He clung on and tried to scramble up, but big hands locked around his ankle and tugged.

Jason fell like Mama Rosa taught him, with his head tucked in and his arms spread out to slap the concrete, then rolled right over and back up onto his feet and threw a punch at Batman. A black-gloved hand slapped his fist aside, so he hit with the other hand, but that time Batman caught his wrist and pulled him up to his tiptoes.

He jumped up and kicked Batman in the chest and felt the guy's grip break. Batman staggered back a couple steps and Jason was flying the other direction through the air and he knew he was doing it wrong, not like Mama Rosa showed him. He tried to turn over and land properly but he was no good at all those flips and shit. This time he hit the ground hard and skinned his palm on the pavement and tumbled up against the trash cans. They fell over with a clatter and dumped garbage on him.

Batman hauled him to his feet again, and he flinched. "Don't kill me!" he squeaked. The words popped out before Jason could stop them. Stupidest last words. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see.

But Batman's grip on his arm loosened a little. "I'm not going to kill you."

Jason opened his eyes. "You're not?" His heart was still running a hundred miles an hour, but now he felt dumber than ever.

"I don't kill."

"Yeah, right!" Jason tried to kick Batman again, but this time the guy sidestepped and kept a firm hold on Jason's shirt.

"I just want my tires back," said Batman. His voice was softer this time, not as growly. "I won't hurt you."

He sounded like he really meant it. Yeah, right. Jason clenched his teeth and jerked his thumb toward the tires. "They're right there."

"I see them."

"So just take them, already!"

"I want you to put them back." Batman let go of Jason with one hand and pointed toward the car. "Now."

"You kidding?" This didn't make sense. Batman didn't act like this. He just killed people that got in his way, right? That was what Mama Rosa said, anyway, and it always seemed like she knew what she was talking about, even if she did go on and on and play with her stupid locket. "You're really not gonna kill me?" Jason asked, and his voice came out way too small and childish.

Batman bent down a little and looked Jason right in the eyes, so close that Jason realised the weird white eyes were just lenses in the cowl. "I promise I won't kill you," he said, and his voice hardly growled at all this time. "What's your name, kid?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "Why do you care?"

"Maybe I like you."

Jason scowled. "You don't like anybody."

"That's not true."

He realised he didn't feel very scared any more. But he was confused and he wanted to run away into the dark and not have to talk to this freak any more. "Jason Todd," he muttered. "All right? Can I go now?"

"Tires first." Batman pointed at the car again, then picked up Jason's tire iron and pressed it into his hand.

"Fine." He rolled one of the wheels back down the sidewalk. Batman picked up another and walked beside him, then leaned against the car and watched Jason start putting the first tire back on. Jason tried not to look up, but he could feel Batman's eyes burning into him.

Finally he jerked his head up. "What?"

"Who taught you to fight?" asked Batman.

"Nobody." Jason wrenched the last bolt tight and shuffled along to the next tire. What was he doing, talking to Batman? Talking to the freak who killed Dad. Mama Rosa would be mad. Not like he really cared about that. He put the tires back on as fast as he could.

"There, I'm done. Can I go?"

"Do you have a home to go back to?" Batman almost sounded worried. Ha, yeah, right, like he would ever care about some street kid.

"Course I do." Jason stuck out his chin. "Now leave me alone!" He turned and bolted for the shadows, and this time Batman didn't chase him. But he didn't stop running until his chest burned and his side hurt and he couldn't catch his breath. When he couldn't run any more, he crept into the narrowest alley he could find and huddled here, shaking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_The Batcave._

_18 September. 23:46._

Batman peeled back his cowl and stood there beside the car for a moment, frowning. Part of him still wanted to return to that neighbourhood in Coventry, even though he knew the kid was long gone, hours gone. He could be anywhere in the city by now. The irrational corner of Bruce's mind insisted that he had to go back anyway.

The years of analytical training pushed aside that urge and asked the usual sharp questions. Why did he feel this desire to return to the scene of the boy's attempted crime? Why was he reacting emotionally? He had seen hundreds of snotty little criminals-in-training roaming the streets of Gotham over the years. What was different about this one?

What possessed him to speak softly to the boy? _Maybe I like you_. Why would he say that? It wasn't something the Batman should say, and it was a lie anyway. He had no reason to like a violent, thieving brat he'd met for all of ten minutes. Bruce rubbed his side, where the little punk's tire iron hit him. He was going to have a bruise in the morning.

The kid said nobody taught him how to fight. The bruise said otherwise. Maybe that was the difference. The way the boy moved, quick and light on his feet. The way he struck without telegraphing his blow, fell off the fire escape straight into a roll, shifted his weight to drive his punches from the hip up through his whole body. That was more than just natural talent or instinct; someone trained the kid to move like that.

Alfred appeared at his elbow and offered him a steaming mug of tea.

"Thanks," he grunted, and took the mug. Its warmth soaked slowly through his glove as he started pacing the length of the cave. The fighting skill, that must be the answer. He just wasn't accustomed to encountering street fighters with that kind of training. The boy's skill caught him off guard; of course it would stick in his mind.

"Is something troubling you, sir?"

Bruce stopped pacing and frowned at the mug in his hand. Then he sighed and looked at Alfred standing there watching him. "I…met a young boy tonight, Alfred."

"Indeed, sir?" The butler's voice stayed flat and dry, acknowledging Bruce's words without passing any kind of judgment.

"He tried to steal my tires." A smile curled the corner of Bruce's mouth. It hadn't seemed funny at the time, but now…well, it took a lot of guts to steal Batman's wheels! And then to deny doing it after Batman caught him red-handed! That kid had spirit.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "His action amused you?"

"Not exactly." Bruce ran his free hand through his hair and waved the tea mug with the other. He didn't know how to explain. It wasn't amusing, not really, but it made him smile anyway. He couldn't stop thinking about the kid leaping away, startled, trying to hide the tire iron behind his back. "He just…caught my attention," Bruce said at last. "He's the first person in all these years who dared to touch my car."

"And this is what troubles you?"

No, that was just interesting, worth considering. Not enough to account for this kind of emotional response. "He knew how to fight," Bruce tried. "He landed two solid blows and almost got away."

But that wasn't troubling either, not really. It meant someone had started teaching aspiring criminals martial arts. Batman would have to look into that. But there was something more going on here, something about this kid in particular.

The zeta tube whirled to life. "Recognised: Robin, B01," it announced, and Bruce turned to see Dick shuffle into the cave, wearing civilian clothes and hauling his school backpack over one shoulder. He looked exhausted. "Hi," he mumbled as he pulled off his sunglasses and stuffed them in his pocket.

Guilt nibbled at Bruce's heart. He'd been giving the Team more frequent and more complex missions lately, and Aqualad and Canary had increased the intensity of their training to match. Most days now, Dick went straight from school to Mount Justice, straight from there to a mission or to patrol, and somehow fit his homework into the spare moments and kept his grades up. It was too much. Something had to give way soon. A secret terror hissed in the back of Bruce's mind that if he didn't lighten the load on Dick, he'd destroy the brilliant, joyful smile that reminded him all this was worthwhile.

He couldn't think about that. Bruce walked over to meet Dick and rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "You're home late."

Dick shrugged. "Training went long, so we decided to stay there and just get pizza and do homework, and then, um, it kind of turned into a movie night."

"I thought you were going to join me for patrol."

"Yeah, I know." Dick dropped his gaze, turned his head a little so a fringe of black hair swept down to hide his eyes. "But last night's mission was pretty stressful, and we all needed to unwind a little, all right?"

The guilt twisted deeper. Did Dick really feel ashamed of taking a break to watch a movie with his friends? Bruce squeezed his shoulder gently and said, "All right."

Dick looked up again and flashed a smile. It wasn't quite as happy and carefree as it used to be, but it brightened his tired eyes for a moment. "I'll patrol tomorrow night, promise."

Bruce nodded.

"See you in the morning." Dick vanished up the stairs.

Bruce stared into the darkness after his son, brow furrowed, still holding his cooling tea in one hand. Suddenly he knew why he couldn't get that little street punk out of his head. "Alfred," he said, "that boy I met…"

Alfred followed his gaze up the stairs. "I see, sir."

It was the way the kid looked at him. Jason Todd, that was his name. The way Jason looked at him. It reminded him of the first time he met Dick, a little boy alone, hurt and scared but putting on a brave face. This kid even looked a lot like Dick, black hair and blue eyes shadowed with loss.

Dick had glowed through the darkness even in those first hours after his parents died. Jason didn't. But he could. He could lose that dark cloud of fear and anger, like Dick did.

"I want to find him," said Bruce.

He knew it was probably impossible. He couldn't spare the time and effort to look for the boy. But even if he did, even if he poured all his resources into searching the city, he might never find a single child in Gotham's masses. Jason Todd might not even be his real name.

But at least that was a place to start.

Bruce settled at the computer. He was still holding the cup of tea. It was cold; he hadn't taken a single sip. He set it aside and started searching. In his peripheral vision, Alfred whisked away the tea and vanished.

Years ago, Dick linked the computer into all the databases: local, federal, and international police systems; birth certificate listings and hospital records; DMV databases. If it existed in electronic form, Batman could access it. He started with juvenile criminal records. Nothing.

But the Child Services database yielded two Jason Todds in the Gotham area. One was eleven and currently living in a foster home. But the other…Jason Peter Todd, age thirteen, briefly taken into custody of the state two years ago before running away from the orphanage. There was a photo appended to the file. It was the boy who stole his tires, a couple years younger and not quite as thin, but with that same unmistakeable pain and anger etched across his face.

That was easier than Bruce expected. He was surprised the boy actually gave his real name. Maybe he didn't think anyone would bother looking for him. Maybe he knew how futile the search would be. There were no records on the streets, no easy ways of finding anyone in the alleys and over-filled tenements.

He did the research anyway. It only took a few minutes to find Jason's family. The mother, Catherine Todd, died of cancer three years ago. The father, Willis Todd, died of two bullets to the chest a year later. Two very closely spaced bullets…a suspicion stirred in Bruce's mind, and he pulled up the police report.

It confirmed his guess. Those bullets came from a specially modified double-barrelled handgun. Two-Face. It looked like Willis Todd worked as hired muscle for Two-Face. Maybe he was the one who taught the kid to fight. He was a thug, a criminal, but he probably didn't deserve to get shot by his boss. It was just bad luck, the kind that started with a coin flipped by a madman.

And ended with an eleven year old fleeing an orphanage to live on the streets.

Bruce's hands clenched on either side of the keyboard. Maybe he couldn't find the kid this way, but at least he could narrow the search area. He typed a string of terms into the police database. Car thefts in the Coventry neighbourhoods in the past six months. The computer spat back forty-seven reports. He narrowed it to the past month, and that left eleven, dotted across the entire area. Still not helpful.

When Jason ran, he headed east, probably toward home. That narrowed the likely radius; the kid probably wouldn't walk halfway across the city just to find cars to steal. Bruce eliminated the incidents from the western half of Coventry, and that left him with six reports. Three cars reported missing two weeks ago in the northern part of Coventry; three missing within the past week in the very neighbourhood where he met Jason.

It wasn't much to go on. Bruce had no evidence that the thefts were linked, or that Jason Todd was the perpetrator. But his instincts told him to run with it. So he expanded the search into the East End, looking for similar patterns. Last week, three cars stolen in a small radius near the Sprang Bridge. Two weeks ago, four stolen in one of the grubbier riverside areas; this week, two stolen at the far eastern edge of the city.

Bruce leaned back, frustrated. Still not enough information to point in any particular direction. The East End was a huge section of the city, far too large and too riddled with boltholes for him to try a search.

At least he could alter his patrol route, spend more time in the East End. The cold voice of reason asked why he would change his pattern for the sake of one kid who didn't even want his help. But he shoved the uncertainty aside. He shifted his patrol route from time to time anyway. And that part of town could use more attention from Batman.

And if it gave him even a slim chance of helping another child struggling with the same pain he and Dick had faced, it was worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Upper East End Gotham._

_19 September. 08:27._

Jason woke up stiff and shivering. He hated sleeping on concrete. After a year and a half living at Mama Rosa's place, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like spending the night on the street. He wrapped his arms around himself and stepped out onto the main street in search of a road sign. He didn't know where he had run.

Market Street and Nickel Road, said the signs. Not far from home. Jason stretched his arms and back but couldn't get the kinks out. Oh, well. He started walking. It wasn't that cold out, but the chill had seeped into him all night, and he couldn't stop shivering. He rubbed his arms and wished he had a sweatshirt instead of this stupid vest.

He knew he'd warm up if he jogged instead of walking. But he didn't want to get back to Mama Rosa's too quick. This was the first time he didn't come home since he started living there. She'd have questions and he didn't want to answer them. And the other boys – they were the ones he really needed to worry about. He couldn't let them think he was weak.

But it wasn't far, no matter how slow he walked. He shuffled from the seedy part of town to the crappy part of town. Down the street the familiar garage came into sight. Ugly red-brick block of a building with a dirty sign that read, "Mama Rosa's Garage." In back it had a whole warehouse attached. One of the garage doors was open in front and he could see a couple of Rosa's men tinkering under the hood of an old pickup. They did actually fix cars, sometimes. Just not very often.

Jason slipped around the side of the building and in the back door. It was pretty quiet this time of day. There were a couple guys getting started on pulling apart a BMW in the middle of the floor, a few more cars by the wall waiting to get chopped. But Rosa and the boys would be in the living area, cleaning up after breakfast.

He stepped in quietly, and for a minute nobody noticed him. He stood in the shadows by the door and watched the other boys talking and laughing as they washed dishes in the utility sink and shoved them back in the cupboard.

Jason told Batman he had a home. He wasn't sure if this really counted. A big chilly room, concrete floor, exposed pipes in the ceiling, with the shower, toilet, sink, oven, and refrigerator installed in a row along one wall. A few cheap sets of bunk beds, a bunch of folding tables and chairs, a banged up old TV, a set of floor mats for sparring.

Nope, not a home. But a hell of a lot better than the street.

"Hey, Toddy's back!" That was Eddie yelling, tall skinny black kid a year or two older than Jason. He tossed the last cup carelessly into the cupboard and slouched across the room with his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. "You look like shit, Todd."

"Thanks." Jason rolled his eyes.

"And you smell like it too."

"Whatever." He shoved past Eddie and opened the fridge. "You guys eat everything?"

"Yeah. Rafael's going shopping later." Eddie leaned against the wall next to Jason. "So…you just figured you'd sleep in a dumpster and come back without nothing?"

Jason found an apple and slammed the fridge. "Come on, we've all had bad luck finding stuff." He sat in one of the folding chairs and stuck his feet on the edge of the sink. He still felt cold and sore and he wished he could curl up under his blanket and watch TV.

Bill sat opposite him with a hopeful smile. "I got a Jag yesterday."

"Nice." Right now Jason didn't care. But he couldn't let that show. He grinned. "Keep it up and you might even challenge my record."

Bill scowled. "I'm as good at it as any of you!"

"Oh, yeah?" sneered Eddie. He smacked Bill across the back of the head. "You as good as me, brat? You better than me?"

The smaller kid shrank down in his chair. "I just mean I keep my quota," he mumbled.

"What?" Eddie hit him on the head again. "Speak up, didn't hear you. Thought you talked back to me, did you talk back to me? You still saying you're as good as me?"

"Eddie, leave him be," said Jason without thinking, then realised that was the dumbest thing he'd said in a while. Finally Eddie started treating him like a person recently, and he had to go and mess it up like that?

"Shut up, Todd," said Eddie. "Unless you think you're better than me too? Want to test it out?" He cracked his knuckles.

"I just meant he's not worth your time," Jason said hastily. But he knew he'd blown it, made one stupid remark and he was falling right back down to the bottom of Eddie's list.

"I thought I told you to shut up, Todd. I decide what's worth my time, all right?"

"Eddie," said Rafael from the end of the table, "your noise is bothering me." He frowned at Eddie over the top of his grubby, dog-eared copy of _Huckleberry Finn_, and that was the end of that. A while back Eddie tried to make fun of Rafael's reading, so Rafael broke his nose. Nobody said anything about it anymore. And nobody crossed Rafael.

Jason started breathing again. He was still safe halfway up the ranks, where Eddie couldn't kick him around. "Anybody got a cigarette?" he asked loudly, to get rid of the tension filling the space around Eddie. He threw the apple core into the sink and dug a battered pack of matches out of his vest pocket.

"Catch." Rafael flicked one down the table_. _

Jason caught the cigarette and lit up. "Thanks." He always thought smoking was dumb, but all Rosa's boys did it. He wasn't like Rafael, wasn't strong enough yet to risk being different. So he took a deep pull of his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. Not so long ago he used to gag, but now it actually tasted good.

The door swung open again, and Mama Rosa walked in with Mike and Taggart behind her. She was in her overalls and had a wrench swinging from one hand. Her eyes fell on Jason right away. "_Buenos dies_, Jason. Glad you came back." She tossed the wrench on the nearest table. "Did you bring me a car?"

"No." Jason's fingers tightened on his cigarette but he stayed where he was, feet propped up and head tipped back. "Bad luck this time."

"Takes more than bad luck to keep you out all night." Mama Rosa sat on the edge of the table next to him. Her gaze was sharp and cold. Jason never liked looking her in the eyes. She taught him a lot and gave him a bed and food, and sure, he was real grateful, but that didn't mean he had to like her.

"Bad luck with pointy ears and a cape," said Jason, and kept his voice steady and casual. But inside he laughed as the room went dead silent.

Mama Rosa's eyes narrowed. "You met Batman?"

Eddie laughed, but it sounded a little weak. "Sure, he met Batman. Little punk just doesn't want to admit he's too lame to keep up his quota."

A quick look from Mama Rosa was enough to shut Eddie up. She turned back to Jason and leaned a little closer. "What happened?"

Jason swallowed. He'd never seen a look like that on her face before. She looked tense, suspicious. "Well," he said, and took another drag from his cigarette, "I was just trying to steal a car when he came up behind me. He tried to grab me, so I hit him a couple times and ran for it. He chased me. I thought I lost him after a while but I wasn't sure, so I didn't come back. You said we had to be careful not to lead anyone here."

For a long minute Mama Rosa just looked at him really hard, and Jason felt like a bug she was considering stepping on. He stuck out his chin and looked right back at her. Everything he said was pretty much true, except that when he ran last night, he hadn't actually been thinking clearly enough to worry about leading Batman back to the garage. And leaving out details like his conversation with Batman didn't count as lying, not really.

"You were lucky," said Mama Rosa at last. She leaned back and rested her hands behind her on the table. "You all remember what Batman did to my husband, _si_?"

Of course they did. She'd only told the story about a hundred times. But Jason figured they were about to hear it again anyway. He sucked on his cigarette and tried not to look too bored. He had his own tragic tale, after all. He just didn't tell it every chance he got.

"This was all his idea," said Mama Rosa, waving her hand around the room. "Our co-workers said he was crazy, too much work, no profit. But he ignored them, he took in a group of boys, gave them a home and trained them to become something better than the streets promised." Her hand rose to her throat and flicked her locket open and shut. Jason didn't bother looking. He'd seen the little photo plenty of times before: a thin, pale man with a stupid goatee and a scar across one eye.

"He knew bad men in bad places," said Mama Rosa. "So do all of us. _Mi querido_, he wanted to help boys like you, but he died because he worked with the wrong people. Batman came for him and stabbed him with his own knife."

Jason tossed his cigarette butt into the sink with the apple core. He didn't want to sit here listening to this. None of them did, except Bill, because he was a kiss-ass, and maybe Rafael, because you could never tell what he was thinking. But they all listened anyway.

And this time, Jason couldn't help wondering. He knew Batman killed Rosa's husband. He knew Batman killed Dad. He knew Batman didn't care that the criminals he hunted were people too, people with families and friends, people who maybe didn't have much choice about what they had to do to survive.

But he didn't kill Jason. Didn't even hurt him. Didn't even try. He was almost…nice to him. And not fake nice either. Like he actually cared. Partly that made Jason mad, because he sure as hell didn't want some self-righteous freak who killed Dad feeling sorry for him. But partly he wondered if maybe Batman wasn't quite as bad as Mama Rosa said.

Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Lower East End Gotham._

_25 September. 19:57._

Batman hunched on a rooftop and watched Ned's All-Nite Dance Hole. A pink and blue neon sign, flickering and half burnt out, flashed the outline of a mostly naked woman above the door. Two tattooed men and a girl wearing a handful of pink feathers slouched against the outside wall, smoking.

Rumour said there was a big plan in the works. Someone whispered the word _terrorism_ and the whisper became a ripple through the criminal community. But Bruce hadn't found anything more solid. No names, no dates, no details. Just an uneasy mutter. He might have months; he might have hours.

After three days of turning over rocks, he found a rat who hinted that someone in the Lower East gang hangouts might know something about something. So far, the rat was wrong. This dump, the favourite gathering place of Big Benny Rango and his two-bit gang, was the last place to check.

And there came the slug now, waddling out the front door with three of his goons buzzing around him like flies on dung. He stopped to say something to the feathery girl, then laughed and moved on. Batman let them continue a few steps more, a little further from the door, toward the car parked in the shadows. Perfect.

He caught the edges of his cape in his hands, then spread his arms and dropped to land with a thud on Benny Rango's car. The cape flowed around him and settled slowly across the roof of the car.

"Holy shit!" screamed Benny, and had his gun out of his waistband and his finger squeezing the trigger in half a second. His goons weren't much slower.

Batman threw himself off the car, and the bullets whizzed overhead and struck chips out of the brick wall behind the car. Bruce landed rolling and came up right in the goons' faces, close enough to grab two of them by the gun hands and twist. He felt one wrist snap, the other wrench back awkwardly, and both men dropped their weapons. One howled in pain; the second started cursing in Spanish. Batman spun to put himself between Benny and the club's door, yanked the thugs' arms behind their backs, pulled them inward so their heads cracked together, then shoved down with all his strength and boosted himself up and over them as they collapsed.

Benny and his remaining henchman fired again, but aimed low as Batman jumped, and this time their bullets hit the Dance Hole's wall. The feathery woman shrieked and took off running down the street, while her two smoking companions hauled out their own guns.

Bruce's leap carried him toward Benny again. He landed in a crouch and swept out a foot to trip the one goon still standing next to his boss; the guy fell onto Batman's rising fist and didn't get up again.

The idiots by the door were shooting toward Benny, who yelled and threw himself on the ground as Batman glided out of the line of fire. Their guns swerved, trying to follow Batman, but before they could aim again, he reached to his belt and swept both hands up and out. Two batarangs sliced through the air, knocking the guns away across the pavement. Bruce closed the distance and slammed into the men, a quick kick to the right and uppercut to the left, and they were down.

He whirled to face Benny again. The gang boss was still huddled on the ground, just realising that nobody was shooting his direction any more. He scrambled to bring his weapon up, but Bruce stepped on his flabby arm, and he yowled and fell still.

Batman crouched, still keeping part of his weight on Benny's wrist, and lifted the wannabe gangster's chin. "You've heard the rumours," he growled.

"I don't know what they're blowing up!" squealed Benny. "I haven't heard nothing!"

Bruce let a smirk touch his lips. That denial was way too specific. He leaned close and hissed in Benny's ear, "You're going to tell me anyway."

"I don't know anything!"

"All right." Batman reached down beside his boot and grabbed one of Benny's fat fingers, bent it backward just enough to start being painful.

"Ow, ow, ow!" yelped Benny. "Stop it, what are you doing?"

"Jogging your memory."

"Wha—what, you're gonna torture me or something?"

"Something." Bruce kept his voice low and sinister, but part of him wanted to laugh. A jelly like Benny shouldn't even have survived this long, let alone become a small-time boss.

"Ok, look, I just heard one of my buds talking about a guy he knows who knows another guy, you know. It's nothing, just gossip!"

Bruce pulled just a little harder on Benny's finger, enough pressure to hurt but not enough to do any damage. "Tell me anyway," he snarled.

"Ow, all right! He just, there's just some talk about maybe some guys might have set up recently in an abandoned lot in the southwest warehouse strip, and it looks like they might be getting hold of the kinds of stuff that maybe they could use to make explosives, you know? That's all I know, all right?"

"All right." Batman released Benny's finger, then grabbed him by the arm, hauled him upright, and dragged him to the nearest burnt-out street light.

"Whoa, hey, what are you doing, aren't you gonna let me go?"

Bruce slammed him against the light's pole and handcuffed his hands behind it.

"But I told you what I knew!" he wailed.

Batman turned and walked away, ignoring Benny's yells for help. He tapped a finger to the side of his cowl and switched its radio over to call 911. "Send police and EMS to the East End, outside Ned's All-Nite Dance Hole on Skunk Lane," he said. "Shots fired. Five men are injured and their boss is chained to a pole. There may be more armed men inside the club." He hung up before the man on the other end of the line could ask questions.

Like Benny Rango said, this lead might be nothing. It certainly wasn't much. There were dozens of out-of-use warehouses in that part of Gotham, dozens more that someone good with lock picks might borrow without anyone noticing. Batman would probably have to spend the next few nights combing the area. But it was the only lead he had.

A scream echoed from somewhere nearby. A woman's voice. There, down that narrow side street. Batman whirled toward the sound and broke into a run. A single street light flickered at the far end of the alley; he could see a woman huddled in its feeble glow, and two dark shapes closing on her. No, three. Two large men and a smaller figure jumping in from the other side. He pushed his legs to move faster.

Then the smaller figure – too small to be an adult – leapt in front of the woman and lashed out with a crotch-level side kick, and suddenly Bruce recognised him. Jason Todd. He hit faster than Batman could run down the alley, foot between the first guy's legs and a fist to the face as he doubled over, quick block as the second man took a swing at him, strong follow-up punch to the man's gut, knee to the groin, and the guys were both on the ground by the time Batman got there two seconds later.

The kid stared down at the guys and his face twisted with rage. He hadn't seen Batman. "I'm gonna kick off your balls!" he yelled. "Try hurting girls without 'em!" He pulled back his foot for another blow.

"Jason!" shouted Bruce.

He jerked, startled, and his boot only glanced off the guy's knee as he looked up. His eyes went wide, but he was clearly still too angry to be afraid. "What?" he snarled.

"Enough." Batman stepped into the weak circle of light beside Jason. "You've already beaten them. They can't hurt her now."

Jason scowled and crossed his arms. "Yeah, and now I'm gonna make sure they never hurt anyone else, either!"

"No." Batman crouched beside the would-be rapists and tied their hands and feet together, a little tighter than necessary. "You'll let the police handle this."

"Yeah, right!" Jason's scowl carved deeper between his eyes, but he didn't move toward the fallen men again. This time, he didn't seem inclined to run away from Batman, either. He slouched sullenly at the edge of the lighted area and glared knives.

Bruce turned back to the woman, who still huddled with her back to the light post. It was the girl from Ned's Dance Hole, shivering in her scanty covering of pink feathers. "Are you all right?" Batman asked.

She swallowed several times and nodded. But she was looking at Jason. "Th-thanks, kid," she mumbled. "I—I guess you saved me." Then she turned and ran back toward the street where Batman had left Benny Rango, back toward the club.

"Whatever," muttered Jason, but his scowl softened.

Batman looked hard at the little punk. No, not just a little punk. Bruce's instincts had been more right than he realised. Jason was more than a natural fighter, more than a hurt and angry child. Bruce wouldn't have guessed it, but…maybe the kid felt that same flash of fury that rose in Bruce at the sight of bullies hurting the weak. He had to know. "Why did you protect her?" he asked quietly.

Jason gave him a look of pure disgust. "What, you think just because I boost cars, I don't care about shits like them raping people? Stealing's one thing, but that, that's just _wrong_! What's the point of knowing how to fight if I don't fight the people that deserve a lesson?"

That sounded like something Dick would say. And just like that, Bruce knew he couldn't bear to let this kid vanish again. Jason had something, the same kind of spark that glowed so bright in Dick, the same kind of fire that drove Batman out into the city night after night.

"You're good at it," said Batman.

"What?" Jason's arms folded tighter across his chest. He inched away, like he suddenly realised who he was talking to.

"Protecting people."

"Well, don't expect me to make a habit of it," he muttered.

"Why not?"

Jason looked up sharply, frowning. Good, he didn't have an answer. "Um, 'cause…" he muttered after a moment, and stopped there. His frown drew down tighter over his eyes. "Why do you care, anyway?"

"I can't protect everyone."

He knew instantly that was the wrong thing to say. Jason shrank back. He frowned harder and the pain and anger flared up in his eyes again. "You sure can't," he snarled. "I guess Mama Rosa's right, nobody's safe as long as _you're _the protector. You only care about the _nice _people and the _good _people and you'll just kill the ones that make a mistake, and then I guess there's less people to protect, huh?"

"I don't kill," said Batman, but Jason was already running, sneakers scrabbling across gravel as he disappeared into the dark. Bruce stood there under the flickering street light with his shoulders bowed and his teeth clenched. For a minute, he thought he had something, some hint of a connection. Then it was gone, and so was Jason. He didn't know why.

But this time he had another name, another piece of the puzzle. Mama Rosa.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Mama Rosa's Garage._

_26 September. 13:05._

Jason took his time rinsing the lunch dishes. He held one edge of a plate under the faucet and tipped it slowly so the water dribbled down across it and the soap washed away in little sections. On his left, Eddie flopped a soapy rag back and forth across the rim of a cup. On his right, Taggart rubbed little circles with a towel.

The dishes always ended up cleanest after lunch, because if the boys took a long time washing up, Mama Rosa wouldn't talk as much afterward.

On the end of the row, Bill shuffled impatiently, waiting for the next dish. "Come on, Tag, it's dry enough." He grabbed a damp plate from Taggart and shoved it in the cupboard. "You're taking too long."

Jason tipped the next dish through the water slower than ever and gave Bill a disgusted look. Little brat actually liked all Mama Rosa's talk. Or at least he pretended real well. Probably just because he was the smallest and wanted to make sure she liked him.

Eddie handed Jason the last dish. He rinsed it a little bit at a time and passed it to Tag, and then they were done. He glanced over his shoulder at Mama Rosa, who was sitting on the sparring mats at the other side of the room. She was watching them. They couldn't delay any longer.

Bill ran across to sit next to Mama Rosa. The other three followed more slowly. Jason made sure he wasn't the slowest, though. He flopped down on the edge of the mats at the same time as Tag, and left Eddie to saunter over as slow as he liked.

"Let's stretch," said Mama Rosa. She beckoned Rafael and Mike, who were sorting through stuff in the weapon cabinet. They were the oldest, so they didn't have to wash dishes, although sometimes Rafael helped anyway.

Rafael sat next to Jason and smiled at him. It made Jason feel a little bigger and stronger. Which was dumb. He was small and skinny and had better not forget it or he'd get hurt. He nodded at Rafael but didn't smile.

Mama Rosa nodded around the little circle at them. "You know the drill."

They'd done the same stretches every day for months. Jason let out a little sigh and started loosening up his arms and legs. To either side of him, Rafael and Tag moved in unison with him. Across the circle, Jason knew Mama Rosa was doing the same, but he didn't look up at her. Bad enough he couldn't shut out her blabbering.

"We'll have to be more careful than ever," she began. "And better than ever. We have to assume Batman knows about us now."

Jason couldn't stop himself, he glanced up. Mama Rosa's eyes bit into him, hard and accusing. "I didn't tell him anything," he protested. But that wasn't true, was it? He told Batman his name. And Rosa's name.

"I never said you did." Mama Rosa smiled, but her eyes stayed cold and suspicious. "You didn't have to tell him anything. They call him the World's Greatest Detective. If he wants to find us, he will."

Jason stretched his left leg out in front of him and reached to grab his foot. He glued his gaze to a hole in the toe of his sock and held the stretch.

"He found us before," Mama Rosa said, and now her voice got all raspy and sad. There she went again, talking about her poor dead husband. "Ah, _mi querido_… he could have done such great things. And his boys, they had come so far. They could have done great things too. But Batman never gave them a chance. I looked for those boys afterward, you know. I found two of them. Dead. He drove them back out into the street, and they died."

Mama Rosa sighed and rose to her feet, and all the boys followed. They started doing lunges. Jason focused on the feel of muscles stretching in his legs and tried not to listen too hard to Mama Rosa. But it was always hard to ignore her.

"Do you know how many people end up in the hospital because of Batman? An average of five people every night he patrols. Almost two thousand people every year. They're not evil. They're just men doing their jobs. They've got families to think about. Do you think they have money for hospital bills? Batman doesn't care. It doesn't matter to him if people end up hungry or evicted from their homes because they use all their money paying doctors."

They finished stretching and shuffled back to stand in a line, facing Mama Rosa. She stepped over to the weapon cabinet and picked up a big red punching target.

"Do you know how many people end up in jail because of Batman?" she said, more loudly now. "Nobody's sure. The police don't always say when he helps them. A thousand people a year? Two thousand? More? They're not evil. They've got families." She moved to the end of the line and held up the target. "Eddie, who's in jail because of Batman?"

"My dad," snarled Eddie. He lunged forward in a good punch, all his weight from the hip. He followed up with the other hand, then back to the first hand, and a knee to the bottom of the target, then a half-turn and a side kick that sent Mama Rosa sliding back a step.

She nodded at Eddie and kept moving. "Tag, who's in jail because of Batman?"

"My mom and my dad and my big brother!" Tag's fist ripped through the air. "And both my uncles!" He punched and kicked, and didn't stop until Mama Rosa stepped away.

"And how many people are dead because of Batman?" yelled Mama Rosa. "How many kids are alone on the street because of him? Mike, who's dead because of Batman?"

"My brother!" His hand slammed into the target.

"That's right. You remember him lying in the street all smashed up after he fell off the roof? Batman did that."

Mike let out a wordless yell and hammered the target with both hands, one after the other.

"Cover your head!" Mama Rosa slapped him across the head with the edge of the target. "Don't let that _hijo de puta _hit you like he hit your brother!"

Mike brought his hands up higher and bashed on the target again.

"Better." Mama Rosa stepped sideways. "Rafael, who's dead because of Batman?"

"My mom." Rafael's voice stayed quiet, but his foot whipped up and sliced through the air, hard, one kick and Mama Rosa staggered back.

She got a better grip on the target and came right back at him. "That's right," she said. "You remember her lying behind the bar with a stray bullet through her face after the fighting stopped? Batman started all that shooting."

Rafael didn't make any noise when he fought, nothing except little huffs of breath. His blows rained hard and fast on the target and his eyes burned and Jason could feel the rage pouring off him and filling up the room. They were all on edge now. Jason's heart started beating faster, and it wasn't even his turn yet.

"Bill, who's dead because of Batman?"

"My Papa and my little sister!" Bill gave the target a big sloppy punch.

"That's right!" yelled Mama Rosa. "Now tighten up, move from the hip, not the shoulder, or he'll kill you like he killed them. You remember them burned all black after Batman caught the building on fire fighting some freak the next floor down."

Bill screamed and swung again. He had tears on his cheeks, and it made Jason madder seeing him hurt and upset, even if he was a little kiss-ass. The air was hot and heavy now, Jason could feel it, all their anger boiling up until there wasn't space for anything else.

And now it was his turn. There was Mama Rosa in front of him, almost hidden behind the big red rectangle of the target, but her eyes locked on his over the top. "Jason, who's dead because of Batman?"

"My dad!" he yelled. His right fist hit first, a good solid smack of skin on soft plastic, and he imagined it was Batman's face. Next came a left hook, then an uppercut with the right, and there was Batman's nose all broken and bleeding.

"That's right," said Mama Rosa's voice from behind the target. "You remember him lying there in a pool of blood with a bat-shaped throwing star in his chest. Batman did that."

Batman did that. Jason's knuckles thumped into the target. Batman did it. Jason never saw all the blood and the bat-shaped knife. Just the white dead face when the coroner pulled back the sheet for Jason to ID the body. Batman did that. Jason's breath rasped in his throat and he realised he was yelling every time he hit the target.

"Guns!" shouted Mama Rosa.

They all ran for the pistols laid out on top of the weapon cabinet. Jason could feel his pulse thumping in his ears and throat as he grabbed a gun and aimed across the warehouse at one of the paper cutouts of Batman's head and torso. His hands were shaking and the first shot went wide. The second bullet clipped the edge – that would be an arm wound if the target had arms. Not good enough, nowhere near good enough.

Jason gulped down a deep breath and shot again, and this time his bullet ripped through the bat symbol on the chest. The same shape as the knife that killed Dad. His finger clenched on the trigger. Another hole in the bat insignia. How about the face? "I don't kill," Batman told him. That frowning line of the mouth – bang! Smashed apart, all bloody broken teeth! And again! The gun jerked in his hands. He liked the solid feel of the recoil. This time the bullet went through one of the slanted white eye triangles. Blank lenses, glaring at him. He shot again, and took out the other eye. Gone, dead, two through the brain!

There was no maybe. He was dumb, letting Batman get in his head. Stupid little kid, thinking maybe Batman wasn't so bad. He killed Dad.

Next time Jason saw the bastard, he'd shoot him dead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_The Batcave._

_27 September. 01:02._

Bruce sank down in front of the computer with a sigh. He shoved back his cowl. The southwest warehouse strip. Ninety-six warehouses, twenty-three of them abandoned and another thirty-eight rarely opened. This would take more than a few days. He just hoped he had that much time.

"Master Bruce, you look exhausted, if I may say so."

He grunted and straightened in his chair. "I'm fine, Alfred."

"Of course, sir."

A steaming cup of tea appeared at Bruce's elbow. The steam smelled of soft spices. Earl Grey. He picked it up and sipped it, grateful for the caffeine. He couldn't do anything more to look for the rumoured terrorists tonight, but he could still follow other leads. Like the name Jason Todd dropped last night. Mama Rosa.

He typed the name into the computer and waited for it to spit back results. He took another swallow of tea. It was almost too hot to drink. By the time he gulped down a third mouthful, the computer flashed its search results across the screen.

Bruce scrolled down. He frowned. A bar that went bankrupt a few months ago. A yacht belonging to one of the city's leading lawyers. A Catholic nun running an orphanage near the edge of town. An auto repair shop in the East End.

That was it. Bruce clicked the result and pulled up more information. The shop was within the area he had estimated as Jason Todd's territory. Satellite photos showed a sign on the front reading "Mama Rosa's Garage." And a long warehouse-like building appended to the back of the garage. A chop shop, probably.

He slipped into the database of deeds and titles without difficulty, thanks to the back door Dick had built in. A quick search brought up the answer. Rosa Hernandez, age thirty-two, born in Gotham to Venezuelan immigrants. The shop belonged to her father Victor Hernandez, and she inherited it when he died three years ago.

Soft feet padded across the floor behind him. "I thought you went to bed," Bruce said without looking up from the screen.

"Nah, I was doing homework." Dick sounded cheerful, but Bruce heard the tired blur along the edges of his words.

He turned and gave Dick a critical glance. He had the beginnings of shadows under his eyes. Guilt pinched inside Bruce's chest again. How many nights had Dick come home exhausted from patrol or missions and stayed awake to do his homework? "You should sleep," said Bruce.

Dick smirked. "You're one to talk." He bent down and touched his toes, then kept bending until he tumbled forward into a roll and up into a handstand. "What're you working on?" He shifted his weight and balanced on one hand.

"Just looking into someone's background." Bruce turned back to his screen and frowned at Rosa Hernandez. Good credit score, all her taxes filed on time, no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. "Her records seem perfect."

"Let me guess, too perfect?" Dick's feet slapped back down against the floor and he bounded over to stand beside Bruce. "Want me to see if I can find anything…else…" His voice trailed away.

"Dick?"

Dick was staring at the photo on the screen, his face frozen into a wary mask. His arms came up to cross over his chest. Was he afraid? Or – ashamed? He flicked his head slightly, to make his hair fall across his eyes. Ashamed, then. Of what?

"You know her," said Bruce.

Dick jerked his head in a nod. Silence fell for a moment, then Dick said quietly, "Her name's Rosa Moreno. She's…I met her when I… ran away. After Two-Face…."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Bruce pushed away old unpleasant thoughts and asked, "The Vengeance Academy?"

Dick nodded again. He drew in a deep breath, then jerked his eyes away from the picture and smiled at Bruce. Not his real smile, the fey smile he used to hide emotions. "Sorry, not my favourite memories." He didn't quite meet Bruce's gaze.

"She was with Shrike?"

"Yeah." Dick perched on the edge of the console. "She was from the League of Assassins. And she said she was Shrike's wife, but they didn't have wedding rings."

Bruce looked long and carefully at Dick. The boy kept his face lowered just enough to let the fringe of hair mask his eyes. After all these years, was he still so ashamed of his time at the Vengeance Academy? "You never mentioned her before," said Bruce. But then, Dick had never said much about the weeks he spent with Shrike.

Dick shrugged. "She only came to the school a few times. I sparred with her once; she was good. She left on business a couple days before you came." He pulled a deep breath, then slid off the console's edge and turned to type the name Rosa Moreno. "There."

Bruce didn't let his eyes jump to the screen. Search results could wait a minute. He stood up behind Dick and looked down at his son's shaggy black hair. He always let it grow too long. At least he hadn't tried a ponytail. That would be too easy for enemies to grab. Bruce rested his hands on Dick's shoulders, and felt him flinch, then relax a little. He was never good at finding things to say, so he just stood there and looked at the screen over Dick's head. Dick was tall enough now that a few strands of hair stuck up into Bruce's field of vision.

"Her Interpol file is forty-one pages long," said Dick, clicking the file. His voice stayed bright and calm, but Bruce could still feel the tension in his back. "Nineteen outstanding warrants in seven countries, unconfirmed links to eleven unsolved assassinations, possible connections to three different mobs, arrested four times but never convicted. Nice lady."

Bruce grunted and skimmed the file as Dick scrolled down. So, this must be the woman who taught Jason Todd to fight. But why was a world-class assassin running a chop shop in the East End? Why was she training a street kid?

The answer was obvious. Another Vengeance Academy, picking up where Shrike left off. Continuing her husband's work. Supposedly she'd owned the garage for three years. Had she been training killers for that long without Batman's knowledge?

"So, why are you looking for her?" asked Dick.

"I wasn't." Bruce let his hands fall away from Dick's shoulders. "I was just researching." Which was true, technically, but it felt like a lie. He stepped sideways and sat back down. "You should get some sleep, Dick."

"Yeah, all right." Dick stood there for a few more seconds, staring at Rosa Moreno's mug shot, then turned and shuffled away. "G'night."

"Good night," he muttered back, but Dick was already out of earshot.

A new Vengeance Academy. The mere idea made Bruce angry. It would hit Dick even harder. And Dick already had too much on his plate, with school and patrol and Team missions. He didn't need this. Bruce sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was for the best.

"Alfred."

"Yes, sir?" The butler appeared silently from nowhere.

"You heard all that?"

"Yes, sir."

"This will be a solo mission. If Dick asks—"

"I know nothing." Alfred's mouth twitched in uncertainty. "I expect Master Dick would want to join you in taking down an old enemy."

"That's why I'm keeping him out of it."

"I don't recall that working when you tried it with Zucco, or with—"

"With Two-Face, I know." That was what led to the Vengeance Academy fiasco in the first place. But with Dick already under so much stress, he didn't want to add more. And then there was Jason. If Dick got involved with bringing down Rosa's Academy…

Bruce frowned. He didn't know how to end that thought. If Dick met Jason, then what? He had no answer. Yet he felt certain that shouldn't happen. At least, not yet. The whole situation was still so…so fragile. He didn't fully understand why he felt drawn to Jason, or what he meant to do with the boy. Already he had too many variables; Dick would only create a hundred more.

He realised his fists were clenched on either side of the keyboard, and forced himself to relax. There was time later to deal with Rosa and Jason. They weren't going anywhere yet. He longed to go straight to Rosa's garage and start surveillance, but he couldn't let that become his priority. First, he had dozens of warehouses to investigate and a possible terrorist ring to destroy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Southwest Gotham Warehouse District._

_29 September. 20:14._

Jason was in the wrong part of town. Not like there was a right part of town, but he had no good reason to be in this area. People in Coventry were wising up, so he'd started walking further west, looking for the next neighbourhood to stake out. He found a few options, but then he just kept walking instead of picking a place.

So now here he was in some random warehouse area after dark, in a narrow alley between two rusty sheet-metal buildings. Mama Rosa would wonder where he was, but he decided he didn't really care. She wasn't his mother. Besides, Eddie and Rafael and sometimes even Tag stayed out late all the time.

He kicked a rock at a warehouse. It sounded too loud clattering against the metal wall.

"What was that?" said a muffled voice.

Jason froze. Wrong part of town. What the hell was he doing here? He could fight, he could defend himself, but what if a bunch of guys jumped him at once? What if they had weapons? Jason had a knife in his pocket, but he wasn't dumb enough to think that made him strong. He shrank back into the shadows and hoped he could sneak away.

"Probably just a dog or something," said another voice, the kind of cold hard voice that belonged to people who didn't give a shit about anything but themselves.

"All right," said the first voice. "Then let's get this over with before anything worse shows up. How come we have to help you with this, anyway?"

Jason started tiptoeing along the side of the warehouse. The voices came from inside. As long as he stayed quiet, he could get out of this little alley and run away and they'd never know he had been here.

"You're the ones who want to buy the finished product," said the cold voice.

"Oh, come on, we know you're selling to other people too," the other replied. "So I want to know why you can't do the test without us."

"Calm down," said a third voice. It sounded like it belonged to a black man.

Jason was almost at the end of the alley. It was pitch-black here, but just a few feet ahead he could see a dull yellow-grey glow filtering into the warehouse strip from the nearest streetlights. He broke into a quicker walk – and tripped headlong over something he couldn't see in the dark, but whatever it was, it fell over against the warehouse wall with a crash.

"There's someone out there!" howled the first man. "I knew that wasn't a dog!"

Jason scrambled up and bolted for the light. His heart thundered in his ears. He was an idiot, an idiot, a stupid stupid idiot for coming to a place like this alone at night. And he realised too late he'd come from the back of the warehouse. He was running toward the door. He tried to slow down but he was running too fast. He skidded out into the dim light just as the door banged open.

"It's some brat!" The guy had a buzz cut and a leather jacket and a gun, and the gun was pointed at Jason.

He froze. What kind of dumb-ass was he? He'd lived in this city all his life. He knew better than to get caught in a place like this after dark. But at least, he wasn't stupid enough to try to run from a gun. Just stay still and maybe they'd decide he wasn't worth killing.

The black man stepped out behind the one with the gun. "Don't shoot him, it's just a kid," he said. "Haul him away and dump him outside the warehouse strip."

"Wait," said the cold voice. The third man glided into the light. Jason's eyes flickered to him and got caught. He had glasses on his nose and a nice suit coat. It didn't look like he had a weapon at all, but somehow he seemed more dangerous than the gun.

The black guy frowned. "What?"

"We're here to test the product, after all. The monkey was interesting, but this is a better opportunity. Bring him inside."

The black guy's frown got deeper. "He's just some kid, Doc."

"Precisely." The man in the suit gestured at Jason. "Bring him in."

"All right, whatever." The black guy nodded at Jason. "Get inside or he'll probably shoot you."

The guy with the gun did look a little twitchy. Jason had seen the type before. He was the kind that waved around a gun so he didn't feel so weak. He'd be trigger-happy. Jason realised he was sweating even though it wasn't warm out. He didn't want to go in that warehouse. Test what product? Were they going to use him like some kind of lab rat? But if he tried to run, they'd shoot him.

He walked into the warehouse and tried not to let his legs shake too much. It worked all right until he saw what was inside.

Product? He thought they meant some kind of drug or something. This wasn't a product, this was a monster! It wasn't the kind of thing that grew on its own. It looked like something mashed together out of clay by a bad sculptor. It was bigger than Jason. It was in a cage, but a man in a white lab coat stood ready to unlatch the gate. The coat's sleeve said BeneChem on it in red letters.

He tried to back away. If they shot him, well, that wasn't the worst way to go, was it? But the guy with the gun grabbed him by the arm and hauled him forward. He could break free now. One man so close to him – he could turn and kick him and get away.

Then the gun pressed against his back and he stopped thinking about running. Shit. That was what that thing in the cage looked like. A big heap of shit that he'd fallen into face-first.

"Once you've finished all your tests and shit, we want one that's a lot bigger, right?" said the black guy.

"Of course," said the cold man.

The man in the lab coat opened the cage.

The man in the suit looked at the monster and said, "Kill the boy."

And the monster jumped out into the warehouse and stared at Jason with eyes that weren't quite as stupid as they should have been.

Jason ran. He didn't have anywhere to run, but he couldn't fight a thing like that. He bolted for the door, which was shut and locked. He scrabbled at it anyway, stupidly, because there was nothing else to do and he could feel the monster's hot breath and its spit dripped down the back of his neck and hurt his skin and he could smell a stink that burned his nose like strong acid and he was about to die—

And high above, one of the little windows along the top of the warehouse smashed and a dark shape dropped onto the monster's back.

Jason cringed against the door and stared. He didn't have enough energy left to remember to be manly. He wasn't pissing his pants. That was manly enough right now. He stared wide-eyed because he couldn't look away.

The first blow had knocked the monster silly, but it wasn't staying down. It sprang up and rushed at Batman, and he leapt out of the way too gracefully for such a big man.

Someone barrelled into Jason, sent him sprawling, and he realised it was the man in the suit, opening the door, running away. The other three guys followed him, and Jason scrambled up to follow them, but the door slammed behind them, and then the monster and Batman roared toward him and he had to throw himself out of their way as they smashed against the door.

The creature was bigger than Jason, but only barely as big as Batman, and Batman was the better fighter. He ducked and dodged and rolled away, then came up with a glinting black curve in each hand, threw, and the monster staggered back with batarangs sprouting from its eyes. It shrieked in agony and slumped to the floor, twitching.

Batarangs. Like the one that killed Dad. Jason stared at the weapons. Just like the one that killed Dad. And Batman threw them without hesitating, and the monster was dead. He was glad it was dead. But not like this.

"Are you all right?" asked the deep, rough voice.

Jason stared up at the cold white slits of eyes. He tried to reach for his knife, but his hand didn't want to move. He tried to say, "Piss off," but his mouth didn't want to move either. So he just nodded.

"Good." Batman strode past him in a whirl of black cape and crouched beside the monster. Jason couldn't see what he was doing. His arms moved under the cape and the burning acidic smell grew stronger. Then he stood and whirled back toward Jason, and one of his gloved hands tucked something away in his belt.

"One of those guys had a coat that said 'BeneChem' on it," said Jason. It wasn't what he meant to say. Why was he telling Batman that?

The white eyes considered him. "You noticed that in the middle of all this?"

"Yeah. So?" Jason balled his fists.

"Impressive." Batman kept looking hard at him, and Jason felt like those blank eyes were peeling him apart and looking at his insides. Then the look was over, and Batman stepped past him and hauled the door open. "The police will be here soon," he said. "Leave now if you don't want them to find you."

Jason didn't move. What was going on? Batman just saved his life and complimented him, and now he wasn't even going to set the cops on him? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The Bat was the bad guy here. Jason was supposed to kill him.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, and his voice sounded stupidly small and shaky.

"That's why I'm here," said Batman. "To protect people."

Rage boiled up again and sent Jason leaping to his feet. "You liar!" he yelled. "Stop saying you protect people! You only care about the nice people and the rich people! And then you just go and do whatever you feel like with the rest! I'm not a nice person, so why don't you just kill me then?"

Batman's mouth opened to say the same shitty line he kept saying: "I don't ki—"

"You killed my dad!" screamed Jason. His eyes felt blurry. He didn't care. He grabbed his knife out of his pocket and charged at Batman. "Mama Rosa told me! You put one of your stupid bat knives through his heart! I'm going to kill you!"

For a second, Batman didn't move. Shock flashed across his face, strong enough that Jason could see it even behind the mask. Then it was gone, and he was angry instead. His eyes burned as he sidestepped and grabbed Jason's hand and dug his thumb into Jason's wrist until the knife dropped from his hand and clattered on the ground.

Batman leaned low so his eyes were barely a foot from Jason's. "I don't kill," he said. "Mama Rosa is a liar. Meet me at the Sprang Bridge at 8:30 tomorrow night. I'll give you proof. Now get out of here before the police come." He released Jason's hand, then brushed past him, out the door, and vanished into the night.

Jason's wrist hurt where Batman had squeezed it. The back of his neck burned where the monster's spit had touched his skin. He leaned down and picked up his knife and put it back in his pocket. Then he looked at the dead monster with the curved boomerang knives through its eyes. Just like the ones that killed Dad.

If Mama Rosa was telling the truth. But why would she lie? Jason knew that was a stupid question as soon as it came into his head. He didn't trust Mama Rosa, not really. He didn't really know why she was training the boys, but it sure as hell wasn't out of the goodness of her heart. Why wouldn't she lie, if it would get her what she wanted?

Batman would lie too. Everyone would lie to protect themselves. But…but it couldn't hurt to hear what Batman had to say, right? The Bat had just saved his life. It confused him. Every time he thought he knew that that jerk in the cape would do, he turned out to be wrong. Every time he talked to Mama Rosa, he hated Batman. But every time he saw Batman, he suddenly wasn't sure.

He reached out and touched one of the batarangs. It felt cold. He grabbed it and tugged until it came out of the monster's head. The blood on it burned his hand, but he didn't drop it. This was what killed Dad.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens howled.

Jason shoved the batarang in his pocket and ran for the door.


End file.
